Sins of the Father
by Menamebephil
Summary: Mark Logan. What of him? Premise based on the totally bonkers/genius premise of "Secrets of a Father", by Mary Grayson's Little Robin, which I stole with permission. If I reveal anything more, I will ruin the surprise.
1. Retold Origins

Sins of the Father

**Sins of the Father.**

**This story is based on a premise invented by Mary Grayson's Little Robin, and used with permission. The premise is from "Secrets of a Father", and I've almost stolen the title as well. Other than that, the plot (such as it is) is my own.**

**This should be fun.**

**Oh, and the crossover I will be using will be movie-based, as opposed to comics.**

**--**

**Chapter One: Retold Origins.**

It had been a good life, all things considered.

Ever since the bloody, confused and tragic mess that had been the Alcatraz Incident, a lot of what was left of the old gang had gone their separate ways. They didn't keep in touch much, but he saw them now and again. Ororo had stayed at the school, surprise surprise. Bobby and Anna had left for good; the southern girl had finally found her happy ending. They wrote, sometimes. Henry had stayed in politics, of course, and had assumed the role of an elder statesman. Piotr had stayed on with Munroe.

And him?

He'd become a _scientist_. Seven years in college. A biologist, to be exact. He'd always had an affinity with animals; at least, as long as he could remember. He'd married, and had a kid. No one had seen _that_ coming, least of all him.

Yeah, it had been a good life alright.

Of course, every family has its trials, and he'd always known any child of his was never going to be completely normal. Even before the disease, he'd seen it in the way the kid's ears would twitch at the slightest noise, and his nose would wrinkle whenever there was an unfamiliar scent.

He'd been his father's son, alright.

Then, there had been that incident. It was something every parent dreads- his son was dying, and there was no cure for the disease. At least, no _known_ cure. Until Marie and he had found one. That's the Logans: 1, Forces of Nature: Nil. Of course, the cure had some side effects. He hadn't been too worried by the odd skin colour and pointy ears, he'd seen odder.

Like Henry, or Kurt. Shapeshifting was new, though.

So, his little family had prospered, and they'd adapted well to the jungle, making friends with many of the villagers, in spite of his sullen attitude. He'd loved his wife and son dearly, even though she'd made him quit smoking and the kid kept laughing at his sideburns. It had been a good life.

And you know what they say about all good things?

--

He sat on a rock, some way downstream from the waterfall, his eyes stinging as he surveyed the wreckage. Damnit, it had been too often that people he'd loved had died. He had rarely felt so utterly dejected as he did at that point. Only at Alcatraz had he felt a comparable sense of loss.

With a sudden howl of anger, he picked up a large rock and hurled it into the water. When this did nothing to ease his pain, he unleashed his claws, for the first time in over ten years, and gave himself over totally to his primal side.

--

When he came to, as it were, several hours later, he was in the middle in the jungle, with no visible landmarks in sight.

Damnit, he needed a smoke.

He looked up at the sky, trying to gauge the time by the position of the sun, and hoped to hell his kid was alright.

--

It had been some weeks later that he had walked out of the jungle. His body had quickly remembered the strength it had once had, and he had enjoyed the trek. It had forced him to concentrate on survival, which meant that his mind hadn't been free to wander.

It was wandering now. Specifically, he was wondering where the hell he was.

After accosting the first person he met, he found he was at least thirty miles from his village. Damnit.

--

One long walk later, he made his way back home. Things were not as he had left them.

Tawaba was dead, and his son had disappeared into the jungle. His first impulse had been to charge after him, and so that was exactly what he had done.

It was a bad idea.

After wandering blindly through the jungle, shouting his son's name until he could barely breathe, he conceded that he might have benefited from having a plan.

Getting back took a lot longer than he'd liked, and when he returned, he learned something that made him _sure_ that he had been elected Fate's Personal Chew Toy.

It turned out that a couple of men, claiming to be from the social services, had arrived while he was blundering about in the undergrowth, had actually _found_ his kid, and taken him away.

Damnit.

--

_Nine years later…_

He sat at the bar, chugging on a beer. Idly, he wondered why the hell he'd ever come to this city. He'd never felt at home in the warm.

Oh yeah, that was right. This was the place the guy he'd hitched with was going. So it wasn't like he had much choice in the matter.

The last nine years hadn't exactly been fun. But they had been familiar. Roving around, doing whatever he could to get money, which usually meant fighting something, finding a bar, drinking himself into a stupor, falling asleep wherever, waking up, wash, rinse, repeat.

Although, before, he'd had a van. Now it was just him, and the clothes he stood up in.

One thing he was grateful for, though, was the changed attitudes. People were a hell of a lot more accepting of mutants nowadays, or "metahumans", as was the politically correct term.

"Hey! Who're you?" A man slurred at him.

He looked over at the drunk, and raised an eyebrow. "Wolverine."

"What kind of name is that? Where you from, I aint seen you before."

"None of your business." He waved down the bartender and raised his empty bottle.

"Hey! I'm _talkin'_ to you, tough guy."

He turned in his seat, and stared at the drunk. He looked about twenty five. Young, dumb, and ugly. Great.

In the before-time, he might have gone so far as to fight the man for intruding on his privacy. But times were different now.

So, when the barman returned with his refilled drink, he kept eye contact with the belligerent alcoholic, and slowly extended a single claw, and used it to open the bottle.

He was left alone after that.


	2. Belated Reunion

Chapter Two: Belated Reunion

**Chapter Two: Belated Reunion.**

He bolted down the alleyway, his white cloak fluttering behind him like some ridiculous flag. He'd bought the cloak a few weeks ago, thinking it made him look dashing. Now he just wondered how superheroes managed to run in these things without tripping. Perhaps Batman gave lessons. Module Two: On how to Swoosh.

Shaking that strange mental image from his brain, he instead tried to find somewhere to lay low and shake off his pursuer.

There. A bar. He dived inside, and yanked his cloak to stop it getting trapped in the door. He smirked as he gazed around at the half empty bar, and started to laugh as most of the patrons edged away from him.

"That's right! Cower before the brilliance of Dr. Light!"

One man at the bar turned his head to look at the supervillain. After a second, he spoke.

"Shut up. Some of us are trying to drink in peace."

Arthur was incensed. _No one_ insulted Dr. Light!

"Impudent fool! No one insults Dr.-"

The question of which doctor no one insulted would remain forever unanswered, as the man launched himself up from his stool and delivered a punch that sent Dr. Light straight out of the door.

--

Starfire flew down the alleyway. She had seen a flash of white go this way, and had followed.

A few minutes earlier, Dr. Light had been robbing a jewellery store. When the Titans had arrived, rather than fight them, he had opted to bathe the area in blinding light and make his escape, a novel and surprisingly sensible tactic for him. The Titans had split up to search for him.

"Peasant! How _dare_ you strike Dr. Light?!"

It appeared she had found him.

She rounded a corner to find herself outside a small bar, where Light was fighting a civilian. As she prepared to intervene, Light struck the man with a blast of light that seared the man's face and knocked him over.

"Ha! You should have respected my brilliance! Now you…pay…the…"

Dr. Light trailed off as the man got to his feet, his back to Starfire. He waved his hand at Dr. Light, and there was a sound like a sword being unsheathed, and suddenly Dr. Light whimpered.

"I surrender."

"Good," the man growled, and sucker punched him in the head, knocking him out. Reaching into a pocket, he drew out a cigar and lighter, which he proceeded to make use of.

"Good day, citizen! I thank you for your assistance in defeating this criminal!" Starfire said brightly, recalling what Robin had said about Public Relations.

The man turned around, showing his unscarred face. "Oh? I didn't see you doing anything, but it was nothing, really," he said around the cigar.

"It was not nothing! Tell me, what is your name?"

The scruffy man considered her for a while. "Logan."

The name gave Starfire pause. "Oh? ...Perhaps you will wait for the rest of my friends to arrive? They should be here soon, and I am sure they shall wish to thank you."

"No. I should go."

"No, I insist you stay! They shall not be long!" Starfire put her hand on his shoulder, and her grip made it clear that she expected him to stay. He sighed, and settled in to wait.

--

"_It is Starfire. I have apprehended Doctor Light, with the aid of a man who…may be of interest."_

That was the message the Titans had received, and they had converged and bundled into the T-Car, which was making its way towards Starfire's communicator signal.

"Who d'ya think she found?"

Raven scowled. "A three headed fire breathing yak. What else?"

"Really? Awesome!"

Raven looked sidelong at Beast Boy for a second, but rolled her eyes when he smirked at her.

"I don't know why you presume _I_ know."

"'Cause you know everything."

"I don't know how to shut you up."

Beast Boy grinned. "There's always exceptions."

Cyborg looked back for a second. "Will you two shut up? I'm trying to drive here."

Beast Boy grinned. "Yes, _Dad_."

--

Logan blinked in the glare of headlights, as the T-Car stopped in front of him.

"Ooh. Shiny," he muttered to himself. "And the driver matches the colour scheme," he observed as Cyborg exited. "That's just strange."

"Hello?" Logan found himself addressed by a brightly coloured teenager in spandex. The man didn't blink. After all, he'd seen stranger. In the Looking Stupid contest, this boy had _nothing_ on Juggernaut.

"Hi." After a moment's pause, he continued. "Well, I guess I'll be going now." As he turned to leave, he saw a flash of green exit the car, and he felt a sense of something, some indescribable feeling that something important was about to happen, that made him stop and turn around.

He was confronted with the sight of a teenage boy, with green, elfin features, who was staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. _Understandable, really_, the small part of his brain that hadn't shut down from shock supplied laconically.

To Logan's eternal embarrassment, he found himself unable to think of anything to say.

The kid was doing a spirited goldfish impression, while the rest of his team looked on in confusion. Probably wondering why the kid was gawking at this unshaven guy like he was a freak show exhibit, while the exhibit was staring back.

The cigar dropped out of Logan's mouth as he struggled to form words.

"Err…hey, kid."

The kid blinked, slowly.

"No way…no _fucking_ way…"


	3. Disbelief

**Chapter Three: Disbelief.**

Logan blinked, and his thoughts slowly arranged themselves. Gar was in front of him.

He'd always assumed the kid was alive somewhere. He'd tried to find him, but before long his money ran out and he slipped back down to the bottom rung, and clung there. Gar was in front of him. He should probably say something.

"Err...hey, kid."

Well, he'd never claimed to be particularly eloquent.

"No way... no _fucking _way..."

Clearly a family trait.

"Beast Boy? You know this guy?" the robotic teen asked.

Gar ignored him, keeping his eyes fixed on Logan.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"C'mon, kid. Don't tell me you don't recognise me."

"No. No. It's not you. It _can't _be you." Beast Boy was backing away now, his arms held in front of him protectively. "You...you _died_."

Oh. Yeah.

"Kid, it's me. I'm not dead." Seeing Gar unconvinced, he sighed. "Okay. I guess I'll have to prove it to you.

"When you were six years old, you somehow got it into your head that there was a _ramanga_ in the village somewhere, so you demanded that Tawaba bury his toenail clippings. He did, just to humour you."

Gar flinched as if struck. "Shut up."

Logan ploughed on. "The first time you changed your shape was when you turned into a mongoose to kill a cobra. You ate it, because you couldn't control your instincts, and threw up for _hours _afterwards."

"Shut _up_." The Titans watched, unsure of what to make of this exchange as Beast Boy grew more and more agitated.

"After the change, you wouldn't sleep in your bed properly. You would pull all the blankets into a pile and make a nest. Marie thought it was adorable." Logan's voice was as soft and soothing as he could make it, which wasn't really saying much.

"_Shut up!_" Gar screamed, and flung himself at Logan, throwing a wild punch. Logan caught his wrist before he could make contact, and began to hum, a strange, quiet song that none of the Titans recognised.

Robin unfurled his staff, and readied himself. "Let him go," he growled. But his threat went unnoticed, as almost as soon as the man started humming, Beast Boy went slack, and dropped his arm.

"It's you...isn't it," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

"Yes. It's me. If it makes you feel better, I didn't want to dredge all that up either."

To the shock of his friends, Beast Boy pulled the man into a fierce hug, tears running down his face. After a tense moment, the man's arms folded around Beast Boy's shoulders, and ruffled his hair.

Raven cleared her throat.

"Can someone please explain what's going on?"

On hearing her voice, Beast Boy turned to his friends. He moved his mouth, but the only sound he seemed to be able to make was a kind of strangled choke.

Logan decided it was time to be proactive. "He's my son."

"Oh, _right_," said Cyborg, in the tone of one who has at last seen the light. "...Wait, _what?_"

--

It was late, and Gar and Logan were on the roof, Gar dangling his feet over the edge, his father sitting against a fan unit. Eventually, Logan broke the silence.

"So...'Beast Boy', huh?"

Gar scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. Catchy, huh? ...Okay, it's a kind of a stupid name, but it wasn't my idea."

Logan gave a quizzical glance, which his son picked up on.

Gar sighed. "Look, after Africa, things...didn't go so good for me. After a while, I got stuck under the care of Galtry. He was more interested in the money I represented, and, well, he tried to kill me."

Logan's eyebrows raised. "Nick tried to _kill_ you? ...Holy crap." Sure, the guy had been a creep, but he'd just assumed that was what all accountants were like.

"Yeah. That didn't work out for him. Since he tried to do it while dressed in some turbo-armour, he drew the attention of the Doom Patrol. After a while, I just fell in with them."

Logan sat in silence while his son's story unfolded. He'd missed it. He'd missed it all.

Nine years. Christ in Heaven, he'd missed nine years.

"...but after I met up with the Titans, it seemed like...things just fell into place. And things have been good since then, really."

Maybe it had been for the best. What the hell did _he _know about raising a teenager, anyway? It wasn't as if he had any prior experiences to guide him, since his own childhood was still a blank slate.

"But what about you? Where have you _been _these last...how many years has it been?"

"Nine," he mumbled. "I sold everything I had to get a ticket to the States, where they told me you'd been taken, couldn't find you, and spent the next eight years hitching lifts and getting drunk." He sounded so _pathetic_ when he put it like that, but what else could he have done? He'd just fallen back into the first life he could remember.

Gar laughed, and Logan smiled to hear it. "Yeah, I think I could guess that. No offence, but you _reek_. And you need some new clothes or something."

"I guess so." Logan leant back, propped up against a fan, and looked up at the stars.

"Alright then. Tomorrow, we're getting some new threads."

"Hmm," Logan replied, as he drifted off to sleep.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"You wanna go to one of the guest rooms or something? They're comfier than the roof."

But Logan was already asleep.

**--**

**Since I appear to be on a writing spree, and Fissure isn't an option right now, for reasons I have already stated, I thought I'd remind everyone that this story isn't dead.**

**And no prizes to anyone who guesses which Cat Stevens song reminded me to get back to this story.**


End file.
